


Beginning of a Bad Idea

by stubliminalmessaging



Series: A.U.gust 2015 [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A.U.gust, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/stubliminalmessaging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandy thinks six months is a reasonable amount of time to expect Mickey to use to find a date for her wedding, but time ticks away until there are only two weeks left and all signs point to Mickey still not having anyone to bring with him. She threatens to hire a hairy leather daddy prostitute to be Mickey's date until her brother insists that he has been seeing someone for the past month or so.<br/>Meanwhile, Mickey has to create a fake month-long relationship with some guy from work that it turns out he doesn't hate spending time with. Drama ensues, as one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have literally been rolling this fake dating plot around in my head for months but here i am, finally writing it!! thanks to [kate](http://theabelincolnofmouthwhores.tumblr.com/) for the original idea since it's like her favourite trope of all time. hope you like it, ya maggot
> 
> things about this fic that should be known: i have no update schedule. ALSO rating will get jacked up to explicit in either chapter 2 or 3 so there's that. yep. also ian doesn't come in to the story until chapter 2
> 
> if you have any questions feel free to hmu here or on my [blog](http://likingwhatilikedontmakemeabitch.tumblr.com/)!

**October**

               

                Mickey’s phone woke him and he grabbed it off his nightstand and threw it across the room without a second thought. He belatedly hoped it didn’t break when he heard it clatter to the floor but couldn’t find it in himself to get up and check. He rolled over so the light filtering through his curtains fell on his back and pulled the comforter back up over his shoulders, intent on going back to sleep. He didn’t need to look at the clock to know it was too fucking early and his alarm would go off to tell him when he absolutely had to get up anyways.

 

                Little did he know he would never hear the end of it because that morning he broke his phone and completely missed the news that Mandy’s man proposed and that she’d said yes and that they were getting married six months from then. For the next week Mandy messaged him on facebook to bitch at him on an hourly basis.

 

**November**

                “You don’t need me to come help you pick out a dress,” Mickey told Mandy as she rushed around his apartment and tidied while he sat on the couch drinking a beer and watching TV. Yevgeny was sitting next to him, laughing wickedly whenever Michelangelo said something funny on TV. “You know I don’t know anything about that shit.”

 

                “Yeah but you’re my second-in-command for this thing,” Mandy argued. “I’d say maid of honour but I know you’d bitch me out about it.”

 

                “Yeah well. You made that mistake.” Mandy rolled her eyes at him so Mickey went on. “I’m not coming with you.”

 

                “Y’know I was hoping you’d have a look at some suits while we’re at the salon,” she said and Mickey snorted. “Noah’s family is paying for everything, so you don’t have ‘it’ll cost too much’ as an excuse.”

 

                “Nah, I just have no fuckin’ interest in going,” Mickey said, cringing immediately after he said it because Yev was on him in a second, climbing into his lap and telling him he was bad and he said a bad word and that he had to put a dollar in the swear jar. Mickey huffed and grumbled and pushed at Yev until he let him get up and dig out his wallet to put a dollar in their well-used swear jar. Yevgeny was especially vigilant in keeping tabs on it because it always ended up being used to take him to dinner and a movie which were two of his favourite things.

 

                “ _Please_ , Mickey,” Mandy pleaded. She strolled over to Yev’s jar and put a dollar in it prematurely to make up for the tirade she was about to go on. “The only other people going are Noah’s mother and his sisters and they’re such evil fucking WASPs that it’ll be terrible without you. They’re so catty that they’ll even eat a bad bitch like me alive. You’ll be the only thing making this appointment tolerable.”

 

                “Again, not my problem,” Mickey said, going back to the couch and taking another mouthful of his beer. Yev grinned at him and Mickey mussed up his hair. “You’re the one who just _had_ to get engaged to a popped collar polo-playing douchebag.”

 

                “Mickeyyyyyyyy,” Mandy wailed, flopping over the back of the couch and getting her fingers up in Mickey’s hair and messing it up. Mickey tried to ignore her until she rolled her body over the back of the couch and fell on top of Mickey. Yev giggled uncontrollably as he watched his dad and his aunt wrestle on the couch next to him and Mickey eventually got pushed to the floor and Mandy stole his seat, smug and victorious.

 

                “Just this one appointment?” Mickey asked from the floor and Mandy smirked, checking her nails. “And then you’ll leave me alone?”

 

                “Yeah,” Mandy replied. “Until next week. You got a date yet?”

 

                “Nah, going stag,” Mickey replied and before Mandy could argue he hauled himself up off the floor. “Do I have time to shower before this thing?”

 

                “Yeah, but don’t,” she grinned evilly. “Can you imagine Noah’s prim and proper mother seeing you slouching after me through the salon, smelly and dirty and gross?”

 

“Family Christmases with you are gonna be a blast, aren’t they?” Mickey asked, wandering off to go scrub some of his gross dude stench off.

 

**December**

                “Merry Christmas, you prick,” Mandy laughed, slapping at Noah as he pulled her into his lap. He looked over Mandy’s shoulder to watch Mickey open the wide box she’d placed in front of him. Mandy took a big gulp of her glass of eggnog, already half in the bag. Getting drunk with Mickey and Noah would make up for how tight-laced and well-behaved she would have to be for Noah’s parents’ family Christmas.

 

                Mickey peeled back the wrapping paper and frowned at the logo of the bridal salon he’d gone to with Mandy last month where it was emblazoned across the glossy top of the box. He pulled the top off the box to find one of the suits he’d tried on at the salon all pressed and folded neatly in it. He slid his finger under the smooth edge of the collar and over the skinny black tie.

 

                “It’s the one you liked best,” Mickey observed, noting the purple back to the waistcoat that he hadn’t been crazy about. He knew he’d seen the cogs turning in Mandy’s head as she looked at him in it.

 

                “Well yeah,” Mandy scoffed. “It’s my wedding.” She took another healthy swig of eggnog. “Noah’s parents paid for it so no need to feel guilty. Half of the joy of this wedding for me is bleeding my future in-laws for everything I can,” Mandy turned in Noah’s lap and grinned at him, giggling. After a moment she regarded her brother again where he still stared at the suit in the box in his lap. “So there’s some motivation not to get fat before my wedding. Your date’s gotta wear black with a purple tie, I think. Or a purple shirt with a black tie...”

 

                “Told you I’m not bringing a date,” Mickey mumbled, still looking at the suit.

 

                “If you don’t have a date I’m lining up a hooker,” Mandy declared, snorting when Noah looked affronted. “Come on babe, it’s not a Milkovich wedding unless there’s a least one hooker!”

 

**January**

 

                Mickey practically hissed like a demon when Mandy came strolling into his bedroom the afternoon of New Year’s day. He rolled over and groaned at the sweaty smell of sweat and dick that suffocated him when he buried his face in the sheet. He yanked the covers back and breathed in the fresh air. Mandy snickered as she sauntered over to his bed and took a seat on the edge of it.

 

                “You look like shit,” she commented, taking out her phone and dicking around it.

 

                “I feel like shit,” Mickey groaned, staring at the inside of his eyelids. “He gone?”

 

                “I wouldn’t have come in here if there was any chance your gross hook-up was still here. It’s not my apartment but I still wouldn’t leave that sketchbag alone here,” Mandy said. She whistled as she looked at something on her phone. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

 

                “He had a nice dick,” Mickey mumbled, struggling to sit up. “Can’t say the same about his face or his personality.” He didn’t even get a snort from Mandy at that comment and so he looked closer at her. “The fuck’s that?” he asked, glaring at her phone where she was scrolling through her camera roll.

 

                “You making a complete slutty ass of yourself with sketchbag,” Mandy replied. She flicked a couple pictures further and smirked, holding her phone up so she could show Mickey the picture of him sitting in sketchbag’s lap. Mickey flopped back on his bed and let out a long agonized groan of despair. Mandy snickered as she looked at the next picture. “Think he’ll be down for doing body shots at my wedding?”

 

                “If you’re trying to fucking imply that I’m gonna bring that guy to your wedding you’re fucking nuts,” Mickey said. “Besides, I fucking hate tequila.”

 

                Mandy cackled. “Not according to these pictures.”

               

**February**

“Going out?” Mandy asked when Mickey called her asking if she’d watch Yev for the night. “On a _date_? The day before _Valentine’s Day_?”

 

                “No,” Mickey replied. “Can you watch Yev or not?”

 

                “Speaking of dates, do you have one for my wedding yet?” Mandy asked. “I gave you lots of warning, so I expect him to be fine as all hell.”

 

                “Look, I can get Svetlana to do it if you’re bu-“

 

                “Yes, I can watch him. But you better damn well get laid tonight or I’m _really_ going to hire you a hooker,” Mandy said.

 

                “Whatever. Come by around six and eat before you get here.”

 

                “I’m gonna let him stay up too late and watch scary movies and bring over a bag of candy from the Bulk Barn,” Mandy declared.

 

                “Yeah, have fun,” Mickey said, hanging up.

 

**March**

“Do you like these ones?” Mandy asked, pointing to the arrangements of flowers in the catalogue. She smacked him when she saw he wasn’t paying any attention, dicking around on his phone. “Mickey! Noah is busy so I need a second opinion and you’re all I’ve got.”

 

                “That was your mistake,” Mickey mumbled. “I’m just here ‘cause lunch is on your man’s dime and I’m feeling like a big juicy steak.”

 

                “You’re feeling like a big juicy something,” Mandy scoffed. He held out the catalogue, opened to the arrangement she wanted Mickey to approve. “There’s only a month and a half before the ceremony. Just – say yes or no.”

 

                “I would but I’d probably make the wrong decision because I just don’t give a fuck about flowers,” Mickey said. “So just pick the purple ones because you always do, and come get me when you’re done and we can go get lunch.”

 

                “I want purple _and_ white,” Mandy growled. She flipped to the next page of the catalogue and pursed her lips. “Got a date yet?”

 

                “Nope,” Mickey replied, slumping back in the chair he’d claimed as his own in the waiting area of the florist. “Don’t plan on it either.”

 

                “You’re gonna regret that once I start sending you pictures of male prostitutes,” Mandy said. The florist they’d been waiting for came out to talk to Mandy then and the topic of Mickey’s lack of a date dropped.

 

**April**

_mickey._ Mickey ignored Mandy’s text.

 

                _mickey._ Mickey ignored Mandy’s text.

 

                _MICKEY I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD_. Mickey ignored Mandy’s text.

 

                Then Mandy called him and he growled; “What?!” when he picked up.

 

                “Do. You have. A date. For my wedding?!” Mandy asked and Mickey told her to fuck off and then hung up. Mandy responded to that by messaging Mickey every hour or so with online pages for various hairy leather daddy escorts she threatened to line up for him. He ignored her like he usually did.

**May, two weeks before the wedding**

“So do I get to meet this guy before the wedding or what?” Mandy asked.

 

                “What guy?” Mickey asked around a mouthful of pizza. Yev took the cheesiest slice he could and made a huge fucking mess with it but Mandy and Mickey were far from the strictest caregivers so they let him get messy.

 

                Mandy looked over at him, eyebrows unimpressed. “You know which guy.” Mickey didn’t comment and so Mandy went off on him. “Mickey, I told you six months ago that you needed to find someone to go to the wedding with you! Why do you never listen to a word I say?!”

 

                Mickey tried to ignore her but Yev burrowed into his side and pouted. He knew it was because he didn’t like it when Mandy got rambly because she got progressively louder and louder and it stressed him out. Mickey cut her off and rushed to come up with an excuse to get Mandy off his ass.

 

                “A-actually,” he started, and Mandy scowled when he faltered. “I’m kind of... seeing someone.”

 

                “Bullshit,” Mandy huffed, and after a severe look from Yev she went over to the counter and dug around in her purse for a dollar. She shoved it in the jar as she continued to interrogate her brother. “If you were dating someone, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

 

                Mickey gestured to her and the violent reaction she had now.

 

                “Alright, fair enough,” she blew out of the corner of her mouth to get her bangs out of her eyes. “How long have you been seeing him?”

 

                “A m-month or so,” Mickey coughed and cleared his throat.

 

                Mandy narrowed her eyes at him. “Where did you meet him?”

 

                “Work?” Mickey said, voice pitching up at the end in a way that made it sound like a question. Mandy looked like she was going to argue. “Work,” he said more firmly. “I met him at work.”

 

                Mandy crossed the room and sunk into a seat on the couch, putting Yev between her and Mickey. The five-year-old continued to munch happily on pizza and watch TV, oblivious to the scandalous conversation going on over his head.

 

                “I still think you would have told me,” Mandy said slowly.

 

                “Well we’re not like... official or anything,” Mickey said, hoping it sounded convincing. “I don’t know if he wants to be boyfriends or anything so I don’t want to push it. Asking him to go to the wedding would be a bit much.”

 

                “You better get real serious with him, real quick then,” Mandy said, narrowing her eyes at Mickey again. “Or I give Boris the Soviet Love Hammer a call and you get some hairy moustached armcandy for the night.”

 

                Mandy laid off him after that comment and Mickey considered it a blessing. He’d set himself up with another problem then, perhaps an even bigger one – where to find a fake boyfriend from work to help him fake a month-long relationship and play at being together for a night. Mickey was probably fucked, and definitely not in the good way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long but I'm a piece of shit lol. I have no excuse besides that lol

After lunch Ian couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He shivered and looked over his shoulder a half a dozen times in the first hour. He was just about to write it off as paranoia and carry on with his work when he went back to his computer and shook his mouse to wake it up from the company logo screen saver. His screen went black as the computer lagged to catch up with him and in the reflection of his screen he saw a dark head of hair and a pair of pale eyes peering at him over the top of the next cubicle over.

 

They made eye contact in Ian’s screen and the other guy’s eyebrows shot up before he ducked down behind the cubicle wall and out of sight with a bitten-off curse. Ian grinned a private little grin and went back to work once his computer had finished waking up. He thought the guy would give up the act after being found out but a few minutes later when he was focused on work he saw movement out of the corner of his eye which he was sure was the guy from across the office power-walking back to his desk to try and pretend he hadn’t been caught.

 

Hours later, as everyone was packing up their things and getting ready to go home, Ian had left his desk to go hunt down his brunette stalker. Ian vaguely remembered the guy from out of office work functions – mostly the time that he’d brought his sister to the office Christmas party and she had gotten spectacularly drunk and tried to make out with Ian. ‘Mickey!’ the sister had whined when her brother dragged her out of Ian’s lap and to her feet and he had apologized to Ian with a look before he took her home.

 

"You’re Mickey, right?" Ian asked, leaning against the guy’s desk and watching him jump like a frightened raccoon caught in the garbage can. He scrambled to look like he was busy and so Ian repeated it. "Mickey Milkovich? Your sister tried to make out with me at the Christmas party-"

 

"Yeah, sorry about that," he mumbled, shutting down his computer and hurrying to pack up his things. He dropped his phone on the floor and cursed as he bent down to pick it up. Ian admired him in his jeans before he dropped the bomb he’d been meaning to when he walked across the department.

 

"-and you’ve been watching me work on and off all day," Ian said, smirking when Mickey’s spine visibly stiffened. He kept packing up his things, his movements awkward and tense. "Any particular reason for that? Or were you just enjoying the scenery?"

 

"N-no, I – uh – I need to go," he finished packing away his things and kept his head down as he tried to walk past Ian but he made his stance wider, blocking the empty wall of Mickey’s cubicle. "Get the _fuck_ out of my way, firecrotch."

 

This side of Mickey was more interesting – he’d have been disappointed if Mickey had been some timid little woodland creature who seemed to have a crush on him. A little spice was way more appealing.

 

"Did you want something?" Ian asked, cocking his hip out as he leaned to one side in the empty space of the cubicle. "Coffee or a drink? Actually, I’m partial to dinner-"

 

"I need you to go to a wedding with me," Mickey blurted out, silencing Ian effectively. After a moment of glowering, Mickey continued. "My sister’s wedding is in two weeks and I need a date and I don’t know anyone else."

 

"You’re gay?" Ian asked after a moment, struggling to process that.

 

"Jesus, that’s what you took from that? Catch the fuck up, Gallagher," Mickey got to his feet and swung his bag over his shoulder then. He grabbed a pad of sticky notes from his top drawer and scribbled his number down on it, peeling it off and pressing the crisp note into Ian’s slack hand. "I gotta go or I’ll be late picking my kid up from daycare and his mom won’t let me hear the end of it. Call me later and I’ll explain everything."

 

Ian nodded dumbly and Mickey shoved past him, and he probably got all the way down to the ground level and out to the bus stop before Ian snapped out of the confused trance he’d been in. "He has a kid...?" Ian muttered, shaking his head before he went back to his own desk to pack up his stuff.

 

-

 

Ian didn’t feel like cooking dinner after work that night so he stopped off at the hipster artisan pizza place that he sometimes went to and ordered his favourite pizza to go: a low and slow pizza with pulled pork and apple ‘slaw. As he waited at the bar for his dinner to be ready he had a lemonade and contemplated on the crumpled sticky note in his pocket. He pulled it out and smoothed it on the bartop, placing his phone parallel to it and staring down at the decision before him.

 

He could not call and get rid of the number. That was an option. Yes, they worked in the same place but prior to their awkward interaction earlier that day they hadn’t had cause to actually speak to one another before aside from the Christmas party which could barely be called speaking. There was a reasonable chance that Ian could never speak to the guy again if neither of them went out of their way to continue contact.

 

But Mickey _did_ have reason to go out of his way to talk to Ian. Ian could remember how Mandy was and he didn’t doubt for a second that if she wanted Mickey to have a date to her wedding, he would _have a date_ whether he liked it or not. So not calling? Probably not an option.

 

But if he did call, he didn’t know what he would say. He’d have so many questions and it’d be so awkward and clearly Mickey was only about the business side of it. He wanted to look at it like he was hiring an escort minus the pay and that kind of transaction didn’t sit well with Ian. The more he thought about it the more he was sure that when Mickey broached the topic with him he would say no. He wasn’t a wedding date hooker – Mickey would just have to find someone else. Perhaps a _real_ hooker, if that’s what he was in the market for.

 

So he texted Mickey. He typed up his reasoning and hesitated for only a second before he sent it off to Mickey. He sent another text afterwards apologizing again, then deleted the message thread and set down his phone, letting out a deep sigh at having done the right thing. He ordered a beer as a sort of self-congratulations and was halfway through the pint when his phone vibrated violently, indicating he had received at least a half a dozen texts. He picked his phone up hesitantly and unlocked it.

 

_what_

 

_no_

 

_it’s not like that man_

 

_i’m just trying to get my sister off my back_

 

_you know what she’s like_

 

_fuckin call me gallagher, i’m gettin tired of this_

 

Before Ian could think to do anything else or type a reply, his phone was ringing. In his panic, he answered it, fumbling to put it to his ear. "H-hello?"

 

"Thank fuck. I’ve only got two weeks to make this work, Gallagher. I need you on board," Mickey started talking immediately and Ian had to say his name three times at increasing volumes to get him to pause for even a second.

 

"Did you not read my text? I’m not interested," Ian told him. "If you want a wedding date, call a hooker."

 

"That’s literally my problem. If I didn’t come up with a date, my sister was gonna hire me a big hairy hooker," Mickey explained.

 

"Truly a fate worse than death," Ian said sarcastically, taking a long pull from his beer. He had a feeling he would need it for this conversation.

 

"Actually, it is. I don’t _want_ a date, much less one of the leather daddy escort kind," he huffed in a breath and Ian could tell he was having a smoke then. He felt the need for one himself clawing at the edge of his consciousness, which was frustrating because he’d quit months ago. "But Mandy got on my case and I panicked and told her I have a boyfriend so now I gotta create a month-long relationship out of nothing."

 

"Sounds like an awful lot of a you problem," Ian snarked. "Find some other chump, I’m still not interested."

 

"Can’t. It’s gotta be you, Gallagher."

 

" _Why_?" Ian asked, exhausted by this conversation. He ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand and traced the condensation on the side of his glass with a fingertip. "Why does it have to be _me_?"

 

"You’re... the only gay dude I know." Mickey admitted and Ian huffed out a laugh. "Don’t fucking laugh, dick breath! The only other guys I meet are quick fucks in back alleys behind bars. Having a _boyfriend_ isn’t my fucking style but I’m gonna have to try it on for one night so Mandy doesn’t beat my ass." Ian snorted. "And not in the good way."

 

"I still don’t get why you don’t just hire someone to do things your way," Ian said, leaning his elbow on the bar and his cheek on his hand.

 

"We work in the same place – do you have a few hundred bucks to throw at a guy you don’t even plan to have sex with?"

 

"If you pay their rate, you can do whatever you want with them. Why not take advantage of that?" Ian asked and Mickey breathed out a growl. "There is literally nothing in this for me. Why would I agree to it?"

 

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Mickey asked and Ian scoffed. "More likely because you feel sorry for me and you know how Mandy can get when you don’t go along with what she wants."

 

"While that’s all very sad, I’m still not on board," Ian said. "So if you haven’t got anything else, I’m gonna hang up and never talk to you again now."

 

"I’ll take you on dates," Mickey declared, giving Ian pause. "I’ve gotta make evidence of a month-long relationship so every possible chance I get for the next two weeks I’ll take you places and do fun things with you and aside from buying you a suit for the wedding, I will literally pay for everything."

 

"...so you expect me to want to be your part-time boyfriend?" Ian asked. "Just until the wedding, and then you tell her we broke up and I’m off the hook?"

 

"Yeah. We’ll go do fun stuff and you have no obligation to have any feelings or any of that shit," Mickey explained. "All of the good stuff about going out with someone with none of the mushy shit or hurt feelings."

 

"Still not getting why I should want to do this."

 

"Because it would be fun and free and I like to think I’m not _that_ awful to spend time with," Mickey said, voice edged with a bit of desperation at this point. "Plus, why not? You got a boyfriend? Busy fuckin’ social calendar? It’s two weeks of fun and then the wedding and then you go back to whatever the fuck you did in your spare time before."

 

Ian paused to think about it and listened to Mickey breathe for a moment. He weighed his options – feeling like a kept boy vs having literally nothing going on in his life aside from work and occasionally hanging out with members of his family. Being independent vs being single and lonely and really wanting to have a boyfriend. But that wasn’t what Mickey was looking for – practically the opposite, in fact, and if things went even a little bit wrong Ian would probably end up broken-hearted.

 

When he thought of that he thought of how Lip always teased him for falling so hard and so fast and how he said that all of Ian’s relationships were doomed to fail because he always got invested when he shouldn’t. It made him mad to think about how little faith Lip had in him and how he trivialized Ian’s romantic endeavors. It was hard to be optimistic when his brother, who was supposed to have his back in all things, considered him to be losing from the start but Ian managed. And anyways, Lip wasn’t a relationship expert by any stretch of the imagination, so who the fuck gave him the right to police Ian’s love life?! No one, that’s who, so Lip could take his narrow-minded faithless opinions about Ian’s relationships and go fuck himself!

 

"You know what? Fuck it," Ian said, feeling hot-headed and determined. He drained his glass and slammed it down on the bar top. "I think I deserve a couple weeks of getting the boyfriend treatment. Count me in on your scam, Mickey. I’ll be your fake boyfriend."

 

"Jesus, calm it down there Braveheart. You’re not rallying a fucking army," Mickey muttered, practically embarrassed for Ian. "You free for dinner tomorrow? We can go somewhere after work."

 

"Why not tonight?" Ian asked. "I’m at the artisan pizza place a couple blocks from the office."

 

Ian could hear the distaste in Mickey’s words. "Fuckin’ hipster."

 

"Hey, hipster place or not, the pizza’s great. Come here and we can take pictures and start documenting what has been a magical month of pretend dating." Ian told him. To sweeten the deal and coax Mickey out, he added; "I’ll even buy the beer. Even though you said you’d pay for everything."

 

"Fine," Mickey huffed. "Be there in half an hour or so. Order me something with a lot of meat." He hung up then, cutting off the joke that Ian had started blurting out on instinct. Ian settled in and ordered another beer and so began the biggest most complicated lie that he had ever been involved in.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took seven years oops

                What Ian didn’t count on with their little arrangement was the idea that he would fall hopelessly head over fucking heels in love with Mickey fucking Milkovich. Just like he had told himself he wouldn’t do and literally the entire reason he had agreed to help Mickey get his sister to back down. By the end of one night of sneaking into a baseball game, eating fries from the concession stand, and getting buzzed off the flaskful of whiskey Mickey had in his back pocket, Ian was ready to call it quits on their deal and kiss Mickey’s stupid face. And he wasn’t even just in it for a one night stand, he had every intention to pursue Mickey as a real romantic partner. But Mickey wasn’t down for that, was trying to avoid it actually, and Ian knew that, and maybe he was drunker than he thought he was so he decided to wait until he was completely sober before he did something fucking stupid.

 

                The next morning he woke up with morning wood which he blamed on Mickey even though it was completely out of his or Mickey’s control. He beat off fervently thinking of Mickey and when an orgasm wasn’t clearing his mushy thoughts he took a cold shower and made an internal list of all the reasons why he was so fucked if he had such intense feelings for a guy he wasn’t even in a real relationship with and never _could_ be.

 

                The list only made it clearer that he was completely fucked.

 

 -

 

“So where to tomorrow?” Ian asked, throwing an arm over Mickey’s shoulder as they walked out of the theatre and into the dying light of the early evening.

 

“Dinner tonight if that’s alright with you,” Mickey replied once he’d finished rubbing at his stinging eyes, urging them to get accustomed to his brighter surroundings. He shook a smoke out of the pack in his pocket and lit it, making his next words slurred. “Unless you got a hot date.”

 

“I’d never have a date hotter than you,” Ian joked, pouting when Mickey squirmed out of his embrace and walked a couple steps ahead of him.

 

“Back it up, loverboy. Ain’t no one here we gotta put on a show for,” Mickey said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they split on either side of his car. He got out his keys and took his seat behind the wheel, starting the car up after a couple misfires. When Ian settled into the passenger seat and buckled himself up, Mickey asked; “So am I takin’ you home or do you want me to show you what a real fuckin’ pizza looks and tastes like?”

 

“We had pizza two days ago,” Ian laughed. “ _Perfectly good_ pizza, you asshole.”

 

“Nah. Nope, decision fucking made,” Mickey declared, pulling the car along one end of the parking lot and out onto the street. “I’m buying you a real fucking pizza. If you think that thin-crust hipster shit with all the fucking green shit on it is _perfectly good_ , I gotta set you the fuck straight.”

 

“Nothing’s gonna set me _straight_ ,” Ian said, biting his lip to keep from snorting until Mickey whacked the back of his fist in against Ian’s gut. Ian let his breath out in a whoosh of a laugh and only stopped laughing when Mickey hammered on the brakes at a red light and made him very glad he’d buckled up his seatbelt.

 

-

 

They changed their shirts in the car before they went into the restaurant so that any pictures they took would look like they’d been taken on a different day and thus stretched out the length of their pretend relationship. Ian’s new shirt was clingy with a deep enough V that Mickey could see the smattering of ginger hair of Ian’s pale chest and he tried not to stare at it as they sat across from each other and waited on a deep dish meat lover’s pizza (Mickey shot Ian a murderous look before he could make the gay joke that begged to be made then).

 

“So. Pizza. Is this like a thing for us now?” Ian asked over the beer that sat in front of him. When Mickey just cocked an eyebrow Ian elaborated, drawing swirly designs in the sweat on his bottle with his fingertip. “Pizza for our first date. Pizza two days later. Apparently cheese and tomato sauce are the perfect backdrop for our storybook romance.”

 

“Wasn’t no fuckin’ tomato sauce on that hipster-ass pizza of yours from the other place,” Mickey grumbled, completely ignoring Ian’s comment about their romance. “Fake pizza for my fake boyfriend,” he snorted, taking a long swig from his beer.

 

“Fuck off,” Ian scoffed. “So what do you wanna do tomorrow?”

 

“Haven’t decided yet, but don’t make any plans. I got you booked solid for the next couple weeks.” Ian grinned into his glass at that, careful to school his grin into something sensible and not hopelessly smitten. “Though I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”

 

“No, you go wild,” Ian said. “You seem like a creative guy. I’m eager to see what you come up with.”

 

“Alright well you’d better stop complaining about pizza now ‘cause that’s about all I eat,” Mickey said and Ian yelped out a laugh.

 

“Oh, that’s it, huh? All the secrets are coming spilling out now,” Ian said, voice raised dramatically.

 

“Yeah. I also fuck dudes,” Mickey confessed. Ian gasped and pretended to faint in surprise onto the table but Mickey punched him in the arm until he sat up because the buxom waitress was bringing their pizza to their table.

 

Ian eyed the greasy deep-dish pizza she set down with trepidation. “I can already feel my arteries clogging.”

 

“We both know you’re gonna go to the gym anyways,” Mickey told him, serving him up a big messy slice. “Might as well really make it worth it.”

 

“Pretty sure my hot abs make it worth it,” Ian mumbled, though he took the pizza from Mickey and ate it anyways. Mickey watched smugly as Ian stuffed himself with the pizza and slumped back in his seat. “That is too good to be legal,” he commented after his second piece and Mickey snickered and got out his phone, snapping a picture.

 

-

 

                “So what’s going on tomorrow?” Ian asked as they pulled up to the curb outside his apartment building after dinner.

 

                “I’m putting something together. I’ll text you in the morning and let you know,” Mickey told him through the rolled-down window across the passenger seat.

 

                “Mister Mystery,” Ian observed, smirking.

 

                “Rolling the window up now,” Mickey told him, leaning over the storage compartment in the middle and stretching across the seat and barely reaching the knob to roll it up. Ian laughed at his struggle but waved and turned to walk into the front door of his apartment.

 

-

 

                Ian accidentally slept in too late the next morning and was not happy about it. It was a Sunday so he wasn’t going to be late for work; he was more upset that he was late taking his meds. He cursed himself internally as he knocked back his pills with a mouthful of water from his bathroom sink and waited out the side effects, sitting on the lid of his toilet and clutching his phone in trembling hands.

 

                His mood improved significantly when he unlocked his phone and saw half a dozen texts from Mickey. Apparently his fake boyfriend who he had not quite a small crush on had been busy that morning and had been texting him different ideas for plans until he told Ian to ignore everything else he’d texted him and at two o’clock that afternoon come to the address he’d provided.

 

                Ian supposed it was Mickey’s house, which Ian had yet to visit. It didn’t surprise him that he hadn’t been invited there yet considering Mickey seemed to be a pretty private guy (he didn’t know Mickey was gay until he’d asked him to be his date to the wedding) but he was still pleased that he was checking out Mickey’s place so early into their fake relationship.

 

                He texted Mickey a confirmation and asked if he needed to bring anything before he stripped and stepped into the shower. Mickey hadn’t replied to him by the time he’d gotten out of the shower so he went to his room and dried himself off, then got dressed and looked through his cupboards for something quick to eat that he wouldn’t have to cook.

 

                Halfway through his bowl of Oatmeal Crisp Ian’s phone pinged and he checked it to see that Mickey had said that if he wanted to bring some beer and chips he could but he didn’t need to and that they’d order delivery later. _pizza or smth_ , he’d said, which made Ian snort out a laugh.

 

                _is today like netflix and chill day?_ Ian teased, definitely not predicting that the joke would go over Mickey’s head and he would have no idea what Ian meant. Ian sent him a couple of examples of the meme and Mickey called it stupid which was a thing he did with most things young people were doing these days, Ian discovered. He was like a grumpy little old man sitting on his porch and telling teenagers to get off his lawn and waving around his shotgun. Except really cute.

 

-

 

                Mickey’s place was a little bit further away than Ian generally would go when he wasn’t getting driven there, _especially_ because he wasn’t even going to fuck Mickey, but he was damn fucking smitten with Mickey and would go embarrassingly far just to spend time with him. Sometimes he thought about how Mickey wasn’t interested him and how he was doomed to be heartbroken and disappointed once their little charade was up and Mickey didn’t need him around anymore. He told himself he could enjoy the surreal almost-relationship that he got to have with Mickey while it lasted, even though he would probably just fall harder if he let himself open up to it and be even more fucked in the end. It was like some fucking romcom and Ian hated it just as much he loved it.

 

                Ian consulted the address Mickey had sent him and the directions he’d looked up before he knocked on the side door of a shabby-looking house made of crumbling mossy beige brick. He’d sent Mickey a text saying that he was there and so right after he knocked he heard footsteps and the door opened. Mickey looked him over and Ian shivered a little until Mickey reached out and took the case of beer he carried and turned to take it with him back into the house. He left the door open so after hesitating for a second Ian followed him.

 

                “You should’ve put the beer in a backpack or somethin’.” Mickey commented instead of greeting Ian. “Surprised you didn’t get jumped. This is a pretty shitty part of town.”

 

                “I’m from a shittier one, I promise,” Ian told him, following Mickey downstairs to a basement apartment. Ian looked around as he toed off his shoes, taking it all in... though there wasn’t much to take in. It seemed that Mickey lived a cluttered yet minimalist life. He had a couch, a TV, and not much else in the living room area of his place, a little kitchen off to the side, and a door to the left of the couch that presumably hid a bedroom behind its closed door.

 

                “Oh, yeah? Tough guy, huh?” Mickey said doubtfully, looking him over again. Ian almost didn’t flush. “What mean streets you come from?”

 

                “South Side,” Ian replied, taking a little bit of pride in it despite it being such a shithole. “Canaryville, to be specific.”

 

                “No shit?” Mickey asked. “Chances are we were within ten minutes’ walk of each other as kids, then.”

 

                “Knew your name sounded familiar. Your place used to have all the garbage and shit in the yard... actually, that doesn’t really narrow it down very much,” Ian said. He paused, gesturing around. “This is a step way up from the old neighbourhood. Good for you for getting out.”

 

                “Same to you man,” Mickey said. He put the beer in the fridge, got out two cool ones and took a heavy seat on the couch. “Wanna watch something or play X-Box?”

 

                “Depends on what kind of games you’ve got,” Ian said, sitting next to Mickey and taking one of the beers from him.

 

                “Mostly shooter games,” Mickey replied. “To be honest with you, that’s kind of a deal breaker. If you don’t like shooting digital shit and sometimes real shit then I’m gonna have to pretend to break up with you.”

 

                “Well lucky for you I like shooting digital shit _and_ real shit.” Ian told him and at that Mickey leaned past Ian to dig into the couch cushions to find a controller for him, then took up his own and turned the console on. They played a couple rounds of Call of Duty during which Ian fumbled a little at first but during the third round he got used to the controls and wrecked Mickey who Ian could tell spent a good amount of his free time playing. Mickey gaped at the score screen after their third round and then at Ian.

 

                “What the fuck, man? You a fucking secret FPS pro or something?” Mickey asked and Ian shrugged.

 

                “Just a good marksman. You should see me at the shooting range,” Ian told him. He smirked. “Or better yet, _paintball_.”

 

                “Where the-“

 

                “That was an official date request, by the way.”

 

                “Fine, but how the fuck are you this good? Are you one of those nerds who plays in tournaments and shit?” Mickey asked, still floored by how thoroughly he’d had his ass handed to him. “Like fuck, I thought all _I_ did all weekend was play.”

 

                “I was in junior ROTC all through school and I enlisted in the army as soon as they’d let me,” Ian told him nonchalantly. He picked at a loose thread in the cuff of his sweater. “Got most of the way through basic training, but it turns out it wasn’t for me.”

 

                Ian’s tone told Mickey that there was more to it than that but he wasn’t about to sign on for some emotional blubbery feelings session so he changed the subject. “I’ve never played paintball before. Could never afford it.”

 

                “Well if you like shooting real shit as much as you say you do, you’ll love it.” Ian told him. “I really wanna play with you, so we can go down the middle on cost for it if you want. Come to my place and I’ll make you dinner and then we can go.”

 

                “Alright. Can’t be till next week though. I’m a bit broke,” Mickey confessed, and Ian felt a little bit bad because he would be down to hang out with Mickey without having him pay for everything all the time. That night he insisted on paying for the Chinese food that they ordered and everything felt a lot more balanced after that.

 

-

 

                Paintball with Mickey was probably one of the most fun dates (fake or otherwise) Ian had ever been on. They did some target practice that the guy behind the registration and waiver desk insisted on them doing even though it was clear as soon as Mickey got the gun into his hands that this wasn’t a completely new experience for him. They did what was required of them and then they were put on a team with a handful of other people and let loose on a wooded outdoor course with barriers and obstacles built into the terrain.

 

                The rest of their team knew each other so they worked together to form a strategy to beat the other team but when they set off to exact their plan, Ian and Mickey went off on their own and took pot shots at any person they encountered, regardless of which team they were on. They laughed as Ian hit one of their teammates in the ass where he was laid out on his front in the foliage with his gun tucked back against his shoulder, probably pretending to be a sniper. He whipped around to try and catch his shooter but Ian ducked back behind their tree and they both practically giggled as they heard him raging over which one of his teammates did that, they were supposed to be working together, this is _serious_ you guys, et cetera.

 

                Ian and Mickey dicked around for the rest of the afternoon and Ian even convinced Mickey to let him take a selfie of him pulled in against Ian’s chest with Ian pressing a kiss to his cheek. Unfortunately during one of the selfie takes a splatter of purple paint appeared on the trunk of the tree they were leaning against and Ian nearly dropped Mickey’s phone in his panic to get down.

 

                They narrowly avoided getting shot by crawling on their hands and knees through a narrow ditch until they found a barrier to hide behind. They slumped against it and pulled off their face masks and helmets as they caught their collective breath, doing a piss-poor job of hiding seeing as they were panting and laughing and generally being conspicuous as all hell. Then they were mostly recovered but still smiling and looking at each other and Ian didn’t know what he was doing but he was suddenly kissing Mickey.

 

                Mickey’s hands came up and his gloved fingers tangled in Ian’s hair and pushed Ian’s goggles and helmet off where he’d propped them up on his head. They fell to the leaves under them and Ian sighed into Mickey’s mouth, his hands dropping his gun in favour of bracing against Mickey’s waist. The contact seemed to bring him back to his senses because he froze up and Ian felt his stomach drop as Mickey pulled away into his own space, coughing and righting his equipment as soon as he had free hands. He fumbled with the mask but eventually got it right and crawled off to go shoot someone or something.

 

                Ian sat slumped against the barrier for as long as it took the enemy team to find him and cover him in paint splatters and bruises, dreading the ride home (if Mickey hadn’t already left without him) and the awkward place this new development left them.


End file.
